Barton, Ralph and Ruth, had finally withdrawn from the loop-holes, while Guthrie lounged moodily about.
"I think," said Barton, "we shall have nothing more to apprehend to-night. The savages have doubtless repented of their temerity in attacking a place so well defended as this."
"Heaven grant it may be so," replied Ruth. "We have had but little experience, thus far, in the terrors of Indian warfare but as it is, it is horrible."
"I hope, with you, Miss Barton," said Ralph, "that the Indians have abandoned the attack; and yet I know so well their treacherous mode of warfare, that it would not be surprising to me, were the severest part of our labor yet to come. Ichabod seems, by his actions, to have the same opinion."
"Yes, Captin," answered Ichabod. "I do mistrust these infarnal villians; and I shall mistrust 'em till day-light, sartin. You'll find that they're plotting some deviltry which we shall know about before we are many hours older."
"It is strange," said Ruth, "that these savages should so resist all attempts for their improvement; and that they should persist in their cruel mode of warfare, after having received so much instruction from Christian teachers."
"I do not think it so very strange, perhaps," answered Ralph. "Their habits—their modes of life, are the result of ages of barbarity, and traditions communicated from father to son. No continuous effort has ever been made to Christianize them; and it would be a miracle, were we to find them now with Christian sentiments—adopting an entirely new mode of life."
"That's my opinion, Captin," said Ichabod. "That speculation has been a failure, and it always will be a failure. You might as well talk of civilizing wolves. Why, there's the Oneida nation, who have pretty much all been to school, and sat under sermons month after month,—let them hear the war-hoop, and they're as crazy as devils, and don't think of anything but scalps. There's Eagle's-Wing, being just as good a gentleman, for an Injin, as ever wore moccasins—I'll warrant you some foolish missionary reckons him for a convarted Injin; and yet," said he, with a whisper, "you'll find that infernal Seneca's scalp somewhere about him now. Don't talk to me of convarting Injins. I don't think they were ever intended to be convarted."
"You remember the divine injunction to the apostles, Ichabod?" asked Ruth; "that they were to go into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature?"
"Lord love you, girl!" answered Ichabod, "you don't suppose that meant to come over to America among these tomahawking savages! You see, in the first place, it would have been something of a job for one of them apostles to have got here; and in the second place, he'd wished himself away again, in a hurry."